


Intercession

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, I don't know, M/M, Public Sex, Sabriel - Freeform, This fic is my fucking everest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester has prayed for the intercession of the Archangel Gabriel since he was eleven, beseeching him for help with... well, shit. Pretty much everything. So when Sam meets him, and Gabriel confesses that - yeah, he heard all of those prayers, and yeah, he's still not gunna help with the apocalypse, well... Basically porn happens. Warnings for sex and angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intercession

The first time John Winchester had hunted a demon, he left Sam and Dean alone in a church. 

The priest was aware they were there, aware of where their father was, aware of what he was hunting and what to do if he didn’t return.

In other words, more aware than Sam and Dean, who thought it was a Wendigo and lack of initial planning that had left them at St Patrick’s Church in Florida. 

Dean was sitting at the back, reading a magazine about cars or something and keeping one eye on Sam as he dodged between pews and randomly picked up a bible or songbook, checking out the grotto and the statue of Saint Patrick, depicted with a funny walking stick with his foot on a snake. 

When he got to the first stained glass window, he paused. Sam soaked up the beauty of it, just like he did when they drove through the desert at sunset, or when they walked through a forest on a hunt and Sam almost forgot they were looking for monsters because the trees were so _pretty_. He would let his fingertips brush the edge of the leaves, make his ears absorb the sound of his brother humming _Ramble On_ under his breath, inhale the golden rays of sun until they shone out of his eyes. 

If he soaked up enough beauty, it would make him beautiful. Make him less wrong. 

He raised a hand to the glass, it was depicting an angel in flight. Golden wings flared behind a robed body, the face tilted to heaven, the expression serene. 

“Do you believe in angels?” The priest was behind him, and Sam would have jumped if he hadn’t stopped being scared of things like loud noises a few years back.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed, and he heard Dean snort from up the back. 

Dean didn’t believe in God. 

“That’s Gabriel,” The priest said, gesturing to the window. “He’s the one who told Mary she was pregnant with Jesus.” 

Sam knew that, Sam had read all about angels. He felt the sudden urge to prove himself to this priest, to show that he wasn’t evil. “The messenger.” Sam said. “One of the archangels.” 

The priest smiled down at him, almost like pity. “Do you pray, Samuel?” 

Sam nodded eagerly, and Dean scoffed again, flipping through his magazine. 

“Do you pray to the angels as well?” The priest asked. Sam’s face scrunched in confusion. 

“I thought you were only supposed to pray to God?” 

“You can pray to God, and Jesus, and Mary, and all of the angels. They will listen, and they will help you, and all of them love you.” he promised. 

That sentence stayed with Sam well after the church. This idea that the angels were forgiving as God, loving as God, ready to listen as God was. He carried that with him in his heart and believed it with all his being. 

That was before he actually met angels. That was before _Sam, of course, is an abomination,_ and _the boy with demon blood,_ and _he has to die._

Sam guessed that it was easy to say that all the angels loved you when you weren’t the one who inadvertently bought Satan to Earth and doomed the entire world to an apocalypse that you were apparently supposed to participate in because – hey, at least one angel loves you. Downside? That angel is Lucifer. 

Sam wished he didn’t believe in angels. More than that, he wished angels would believe in him. 

It was unfair, he had decided in the dark recesses of his mind, the ones where Dean and Dad weren’t allowed to see, it was completely _unfair_ that he believed in angels and had prayed to them since he was eleven years old and loved them all of his life, and now – 

Now he got to watch as his older brother leaned on Castiel, got to watch as the Angel of Thursday informed his brother that he was righteous and pure and Sam was… 

It didn’t matter. This jealousy was beneath him. He didn’t need the love of angels, all he needed was a new job, his older brother beside him, and a gun in his belt. Maybe three hours of sleep, and a salad, and shampoo that didn’t smell of disinfectant, too, but hey. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

Which was incidentally why they were now apparently going to the Trickster for help in the wake of discovering an eye witness of the Incredible Hulk and too many lolly wrappers at a crime scene to be anything other than their favorite ass hat. Dean saw it as an opportunity to kill this guy once and for all, but Sam (in his wrongness), had other ideas. 

“Maybe he hates this angels and demons stuff as much as we do. Maybe he’ll help us,” Sam had suggested, and Dean had raised his eyebrows and replied:

“You’re serious?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ally with the trickster?”

“Yeah.”

“A bloody, violent monster, and you wanna be _Facebook friends_ with him? Nice, Sammy.” Dean said sarcastically and Sam scowled internally because yeah, maybe that was all he deserved. 

Maybe Dean got to have an angel best friend and Sam got to have a bloody, violent monster, because he was a bloody, violent monster. He had been. He still was, underneath everything. 

The only thing he was good for was being a flesh suit for Satan, and fucking up Dean’s life so _yeah,_

“The world is gunna end, Dean. We don’t have the luxury of a moral stand.” He stated. “Look, I’m just saying it’s worth a shot. That’s all. If it doesn’t work, we’ll kill him.” Sam shrugged. 

Dean sighed, but that sigh sounded like victory. 

“How are we gunna find the guy anyway?” 

Sam internally gave himself a pat on the back. 

One that he was forced to retract later, somewhere between being slapped at the hospital and getting hit violently in the testicles.

He changed the pat on the back to a mental reminder to kick himself in the face the next time he thought about fraternizing with a Trickster because – _seriously,_ Genital Herpes?

_Seriously?_

The sitcom was almost the end for him, the point in time where he was ready to concede defeat to the Trickster and hope he would maybe kill them gently or whatever the hell it was that he had planned for them. 

Cas bursting in to Television Land gave him mixed feelings, this sudden surge of gratitude followed by fear, imagining Cas saving Dean and leaving Sam behind. 

“Listen to me, something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be.” Cas said, taking them both in, seemingly ignoring the studio audience and the vividly painted motel-room set.

“What thing – the Trickster?” 

“If it is a Trickster.” Cas said 

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, thinking _please, not Satan. Not another demon. Not something that I can’t handle._

His thought process was cut off when Castiel was slammed into the wall, and raucous applause greeted the grinning Trickster as he jogged onto the set with a gaudy, ‘Hello!’ 

Sam hated studio audiences. 

And he hated this Trickster. He hated him because this had been Sam’s idea, and now they weren’t only not getting any help from this guy, they were also getting the full lecture about actually saying yes to Michael and Lucifer. 

“Play the roles that destiny has chosen for you.”

“And if we don’t?” Sam asked snarkily

He grinned, and the audience shifted and paused, Dean suddenly immobile as well in a blur of static, leaving Sam alone with the Trickster. 

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You know you’re my favorite.” He said, gesturing between him and Dean. “Out of the Winchesters, you’re definitely the one I like more.” 

“I get that,” Sam muttered. “What with the way you killed my brother a million or so times.” 

“Hey, I was trying to help.” The Trickster sighed

“Why?” Sam asked, and he shrugged. 

“I like you.” 

And Sam was reminded again of the fact that Angels wanted him dead, but bloodthirsty monsters were climbing over themselves to be Sam’s best friend. Maybe this was all he deserved. 

He had left the silence too long, because the Trickster was staring at him strangely. 

“So much with the self hatred, Sam.” The Trickster rolled his eyes. “You ever consider the fact that yeah, okay, you’re the vessel of Satan – but you’ve done a whole lot of other crap that makes you kind of great?” 

“Great? That’s the best compliment you could come up with?” Sam asked sarcastically. The Trickster shrugged. 

“Hey, the way you’re going? I think I’m one of your only fans right now. Me and that knucklehead.” The Trickster gestured to Sam’s frozen brother. 

“Why?” Sam asked. “Why are you my fan? Why do you want to help me? What the hell are you going to do to us here?” 

“So many questions! Sam, I’m not going to do anything bad if you guys just play your roles.” 

Sam sighed, _say yes to Lucifer._ He thought about all the times he had let down Dean already. He thought about the way Dean had looked at him when he told him about Stanford. 

He thought about Dean’s abrasiveness after Sam couldn’t save Dad. 

He thought about Dean literally giving up his soul for Sam, going to hell for Sam, coming back only to find that Sam had allied with a demon and was drinking her blood. Dean’s face when he burst into Saint Mary’s, the realization that Sam had released Lucifer to the world. 

Not again. He couldn’t let down Dean again. 

“What happens if I can’t do that?” he asked weakly. 

Everything unfroze, the Trickster still staring at him. 

“Then you’ll stay here in TV Land. Forever. Three hundred channels and, uh, nothing’s on.” 

Sam watched with dismay as he snapped his fingers, leaving him alone with his brother who deserved so much more. He deserved an Angel. All he had was Sam. 

And now all he had was Sam stuck inside a car. 

Apparently. Sam just felt a kind of weightless bulk, a floating presence of movement. 

Being a car was _weird._

What was weirder was trying to consider what the Trickster might be if it wasn’t a Trickster. 

Sam’s mental catalog of monsters was flipping wildly, trying to think of something with that much power. 

“And did you notice the way he looked at Cas? Almost like he knew him.” Dean said, and Sam thought that was ridiculous, because how the hell would the Trickster know an angel unless he was-

An Angel. 

“And how pissed he got when you bought up Michael and Lucifer,” Sam said breathlessly, the pieces falling into place. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said.

“What?”

“I think I know what we’re dealing with.” 

If Sam had eyes, he would have rolled them. 

\--

“Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel.” 

“Gabriel,” Sam repeated the name, head spinning, thoughts going a million miles an hour, brain going back to that eleven year old self in a church trying to prove himself to a priest. “The archangel?” 

“Guilty.” Gabriel said, and Sam was suddenly thinking back to years and years ago when he had first spoken about Gabriel. 

“They will listen, they will help you, and all of them love you.” The priest had smiled at him and ruffled his hair in a cliché that Sam didn’t mind so much. 

Sam had looked back up at the priest wondrously. “Even Gabriel?” Sam had asked, pointing at the stained glass window. The Priest had turned to look with him, letting fingers trace over the outline of Gabriel’s wings. 

“Even Gabriel. As a messenger he speaks to many humans, you can invoke his prayers always, you can talk to Gabriel as much as you want.” The priest had promised. “He’s always been a favorite of mine.” 

Sam had decided then and there that Gabriel was his favorite. 

When John had come and collected them that night, bruised and scratched and beaten but triumphant, the priest had handed Sam a prayer card. On one side was a magnificent picture of Gabriel in flowing robes, holding a scroll and a sword, his wings majestic and outstretched. On the other side was a prayer to invoke Gabriel specifically. 

Sam knew that prayer off by heart, reeled it off a hundred times before bed, whispering his secrets to God, and then Mary, and then Jesus, and then Gabriel. 

_“Please, Gabriel.”_ He would whisper, looking over at the sleeping form of his brother. _“Make me as strong as Dean.”_

Sam was sure right now, standing in front of his archangel, that his face would be white.

His hands were shaking, he felt something in his chest that was devouring him whole, something that spoke of a million prayers broadcast across the universe and straight to the figure standing in the ring of flame.

Gabriel was talking about God, now, the _Archangel Gabriel_ was talking about _God._

Sam hadn’t prayed to God in years. 

Only Gabriel. 

Gabriel, who was explaining why he left heaven, why he hated his brothers fighting. 

“Then help us stop it,” Sam said, and it felt like a prayer. 

“It can’t be stopped,” Gabriel replied, and that was the first time he had ever answered.

Sam didn’t want to walk out of that warehouse. He didn’t want to turn his back on the archangel that was almost his fucking imaginary friend at this point. 

By the time Dean fell asleep that night, Sam was almost buzzing. He crept out the front door of their motel and stared at the sky. It was perhaps colder than the short sleeved shirt he was wearing had allowed for, his thin pajama pants blowing erratically in the breeze. The moon was out, though, the stars speckling the sky between the heavy presences of the clouds. 

“Oh Captain and Leader of the Armies of Heaven,” Sam begun, remembering that crumpled prayer card. “Unworthy as we are, we beseech you without cease-”

“Without cease is right, Sammy.” Gabriel’s voice was sudden behind him, and Sam spun on the spot. “You pray to me more than any other human on the planet, you know that?” 

Sam was speechless. 

“I always preferred the Litany of St Gabriel, but you need a friend to do the two parts of that one, so hey, I don’t blame you.” Gabriel shrugged, looking at Sam through his clever eyes with a sardonic smile and Sam felt tiny. He felt like one of those stars being covered by the bulk of cloud. 

“You,” Sam managed to breathe.

“Me.” Gabriel agreed. 

“I prayed to you,” Sam whispered, and Gabriel tapped a finger against his forehead. 

“I know.” 

Sam took in a gulping breath that burned his lungs harsher than the cigarette he had once tried out the back of school, the one he had told Dean about later and Dean had just smirked and said ‘yeah, they’re not that great, hey?’

“You killed my brother, hundreds of times. You heard me praying every night to the Archangel Gabriel to make it stop.” Sam accused

“And to kill the Trickster, yeah, that was kind of surreal.” Gabriel said with a smile. 

“You heard all of my prayers?” Sam asked, disbelieving, somehow feeling eleven again beneath the scrutiny of this powerful being. 

“Oh yeah, Sam Winchester. I have heard every single one of your prayers. From _‘make me as strong as Dean’_ to _‘please protect me from Lucifer’.”_

Sam huffed out a heavy breath, trying to come to terms with that. 

“I have heard every single self deprecating thought you’ve had, Sam. I’ve heard the prayers for your mom, for your dad, for your brother. I heard those prayers you said before you aimed that shotgun at your head and contemplated squeezing the trigger. I heard that litany of rage after Jess died, and I heard that radio silence after Dean went to hell.”   
Gabriel said in a quick breath, ending on a shrug. “And hey, I still like ya.” 

Sam choked out a breath that was heavy with tears, trying so desperately to look like the cool, in control hunter that he wanted to be. 

“It’s ok.” Gabriel promised, taking a few steps towards him and placing steadying hands against his arms. Gabriel was _touching him._ “I’ve seen you at your worst already, Winchester. If you’re going to cry, you may as well do it.” 

Sam cried and he crumpled, and Gabriel was supporting all 6 ft 4 of him, and he was almost shocked out of his sadness by that alone. 

“C’mon, Sasquatch, it’s ok.” Gabriel muttered. “You can stop thinking all angels hate you now.” 

“O-only you and Lucifer like me,” Sam managed between his crying, setting his teeth because he hadn’t cried like this since Dean had died. 

“Two archangels out of four ain’t bad, Sammy.” Gabriel quipped, pressing a hand back over his hair like his dad used to do. 

“If we hadn’t found out who you were today,” Sam said carefully, finding it hard to keep crying against the onslaught of Gabriel, all comfort and pliant and _fuck_ , it was like trying to remain uncomfortable after sinking into your favorite pillow. “Would you ever have told me? Ever come answered my prayers?” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I honestly don’t know if I ever would have told you who I am, but I’ve answered your prayers more than once.” 

“When?” Sam asked

“You said you wanted to be as strong as Dean, right? So I put a little muscle accelerant in your leafy greens.” Gabriel frowned as he squeezed at Sam’s bicep. “Didn’t know how into leafy greens you were gonna get, though.” 

“What?” Sam asked dazedly again, tears stopping, confusion replacing sadness. 

“Remember that time you prayed for a companion when you ran away? I sent you Pongo. Golden retriever? You named him something stupid, Pongo wasn’t happy about that.” 

“Bones?” 

“Oh, hey, remember that time you prayed to me about sex advice and then the next time you were at that party, Gabriella took you to the back room and showed you a _really_ good time?” 

Sam chocked on his saliva and stared at Gabriel through wide eyes, tears suddenly dried.

“Wait-”

“Yes.” Gabriel said with a long sigh. “You had sex with an archangel in a female vessel.” 

Sam gaped.

“Actually, it was this guy’s sister.” Gabriel added, looking down at his body as if just remembering that it was there. 

“Yo-”

“Yes, Sammy. Sex. We’ve had it. Are you like this around all of your conquests?” Gabriel teased, his body flickering and changing until it was Gabriella standing in front of him, the brunette from the party who had shown him… everything he knew. 

“Shit.” Sam said blankly, which made Gabriel chuckle as he shifted back to his usual vessel, the one Sam was used to. The one that he hadn’t apparently had sex with. 

“Yet,” Gabriel reminded him with a quirk of his eyebrow in response to Sam’s internal monologue. 

“Wh- am I being flirted with by an Archangel?” Sam asked dumbly, prompting another shrug from Gabriel.

“I told you kiddo, I like you. I thought you might have caught my drift today, I mean most of those scenarios involved extreme focus on your junk.” 

“Genital herpes,” Sam shook his head, cheeks dimpling in a smile. “Yeah, right.” 

“So whaddya say, Sambo? End of the world, how about we go out with a bang? – excuse the pun.” 

Sam made himself realize this: 

He was being propositioned for sex by an archangel. 

His archangel. 

The Archangel Gabriel who he had prayed to was asking if he wanted to have homoerotic sexual intercourse presumably in the parking lot. 

He had only ever been with one guy, in college, his name was…

“Gabe,” Sam said out loud, choking slightly. 

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. 

“I thought you said I hadn’t had sex with this vessel yet,” Sam accused, to which Gabe gave a shrug.

“You never called,” Sam tried, and Gabriel shrugged again, closing the distance between them with a confident swagger. 

“Don’t hold it against me, Sammy, it was like ten years ago.” Gabriel replied, and now he was within touching distance. 

Sam knew Gabe had been subdued in bed, ready to teach Sam, ready to accept anything he had. 

Gabriel could probably snap him in half with a snap of his fingers if he wanted to. 

And reading his thoughts, sensing his acceptance, Gabriel did snap his fingers, only instead of killing him, it landed him on the dirt with Gabriel straddling over the top of him. 

“Someone could see us,” Sam said, and Gabriel smiled. 

“Let them,” he said, and then he pressed his mouth to Sam’s. 

It was sweet, _too_ sweet, like treacle or honey or vanilla essence. His lips were pliant though, melting against him, tongue trickling into his mouth to lap at his teeth and twine with his own. He got lost in the sensations of that mouth, the movement slow and luxurious and weightless and so loving that Sam almost forgot he was an abomination.

Gabriel’s hands were lying against his chest, nimbly tracing patterns against the fabric of his sleepwear, thin fingers seeking out the lines of his pecs and then pinching playfully at his nipples, making him gasp into Gabe’s mouth and twist against the gravel and dirt. 

Soon Gabriel was making careful grinding motions with his hips, stirring Sam’s cock to life, making him groan into the warmth of Gabriel’s mouth, making his eyes roll and his fingers clench against the jeans of Gabe’s vessel. 

“Know everything about you, Sam,” Gabriel whispered, detaching his mouth to lick down his neck. “Every fear, every time you thought you weren’t good enough, every victory, every defeat,” he bit down carefully on Sam’s collarbone. “There is no human who fascinates me more,” 

“Well you’re my favorite angel?” Sam said, half-joking against the onslaught of Gabriel tugging his shirt off. 

“I know,” Gabriel muttered matter-of-factly. “You told me.” And then he attached his mouth to Sam’s nipple, sucking and laving and biting gently until Sam’s cock was completely hard and his vocabulary had been severely reduced. 

“Sam,” Gabriel said, sounding almost reproachful. “I want you to fuck me,”

_“Mnng,”_ Sam replied, writhing against Gabriel and flitting fingers across his shirt, trying to convey _off_ without using words. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “Use your words, Sammy.” 

_I pray to the Archangel Gabriel to take his fucking clothes off._

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up, and he wordlessly clicked his fingers, leaving himself completely naked on top of Sam. 

Now Sam knew it was a vessel, but he took a moment to appreciate the lines of Gabriel’s body. He wasn’t hunter-fit, but he was beautiful in his own way. The fact he was worthy to house an archangel made him beautiful. 

“You do know that your body was made to house an archangel as well, right Sammy?” Gabriel teased, leaning down to lick over Sam’s abdomen, kissing his way to the line of his pants and then tugging them downwards, leaving Sam in his boxers. 

“Yeah, _Lucifer.”_

“The most beautiful of them all,” Gabriel said with a smirk, flicking the pants off Sam’s ankles and then crawling back up Sam’s body like a cat, hooking hands around his hips and picking him up like he weighed nothing, hauling him against a solid structure nearby. 

It was a car, not the impala _(Dean might have murdered him),_ but someone else’s car who was evidently staying at the motel. 

Sam was suddenly explicitly aware that he was almost naked and Gabriel was completely naked in a parking lot. 

“Eyes on the prize, Winchester.” Gabriel admonished, and Sam’s eyes immediately flicked to Gabriel’s thick cock, pressed against his stomach and leaking slightly. 

“There we go,” Gabriel said, almost sarcastically. “Now, are you going to fuck me or am I going to have to snap my fingers some more?” 

Sam made a strangled kind of noise, pressing hands to Gabriel’s body to bring it closer, finding that it was easy to pick him up and press him back against the car. 

He then contemplated that it was probably only easy because Gabriel was allowing it. 

He dug his hands into Gabe’s hips, connecting their mouths again as one of his hands moved down to Gabriel’s ass, circling the hole with a dry finger and detaching his mouth from Gabriel’s momentarily. 

“Do you have anything?” he asked significantly. 

Gabriel just rolled his eyes, like _how can you have the audacity to even ask_ and suddenly Sam’s fingers were slick and Gabriel’s hole was loosening as he pressed inwards. 

“Fuck,” Sam whispered, sliding slick fingers in and out of Gabriel at a luxurious pace, groaning weakly at the blissed-out expression on the archangel’s face as he fingered him slowly, opening him, thrusting until his wrist was sore and his forearm was aching and Gabriel was taking three fingers easily. 

“Ready?” Sam breathed

“Mm,” Gabriel agreed, and then Sam was holding Gabe’s hips as his cock was slowly buried in that ass, Gabriel’s warmth enveloping him and making him tilt his head backwards with the feeling of it. 

Gabriel took that chance to lean forward, sucking marks into Sam’s neck and clenching his inner muscles until Sam’s thighs were shaking and then he was thrusting, snapping his hips forward before withdrawing, sliding in and out of Gabriel, whispering prayers and half-completed sentences. 

“That’s it, Winchester.” Gabriel praised, arching his back against the car, letting Sam take control.

“Good?” Sam asked, feeling Gabriel getting more and more weightless with some kind of angelic power that let Sam hold him up with just one arm, thrusting carefully as his other hand wrapped around the archangel’s cock, pumping him in time, slicking the head with his own precum and groaning as Gabriel began to fuck his fist, making Sam’s cock slide out and then back in again. 

“So good,” Sam whispered against his skin, tasting sweat that was a little too sweet to be human, lapping against Gabriel’s pulse point as he sped his thrusts, making him gasp into the angel’s collarbone. 

“M’not gunna last.” Sam warned, 

“I don’t mind.” Gabriel replied, flexing his back and squeezing Sam’s cock inside his ass, making Sam’s hips stutter out a frantic rhythm until he was spilling, coming inside an archangel, feeling Gabriel letting go and loosening and joining him in orgasm, come spreading over Sam’s fingers where they were loosely gripping his cock. 

And unbeknownst to them it was at that moment that Dean woke up and realized Sam wasn't in the room with him. He crossed to the window and flicked the curtain open to see Sam pounding into some brunette chick against a car, and he spluttered out a laugh and sauntered back to his bed. 

"Nice one, Sammy." He whispered, wishing that _he_ had some company tonight as well.

**Author's Note:**

> I can not describe to you how much I hated writing this fucKING FIC but thank you for reading it ok its over now.


End file.
